Breakfast at Tony's
by Busman's Holiday
Summary: Tony gets more than he bargained for when he agrees to let Ste stay in his flat. A fluffy little Stendan one-shot fic inspired by the good people on DS!


**Breakfast at Tony's**

Don't let it be said that Tony Hutchinson doesn't forgive. I forgive plenty and too easily most of the time. Tony Hutchinson is a pushover.

The day Ste Hay, once my chef, skivvy and almost-friend, asked for a place to stay for a few weeks whilst his ex Amy – the complicated lives these kids lead with their exes and ever changing lovers – and her new fella (the one with his top off all the time) redecorated their poky little hovel, I stupidly agreed to the arrangement. I hadn't banked on needing to establish any ground rules, although frankly having known Ste, I shouldn't have taken that risk.

\x\

"Everything alright Ste?" I'd said one evening as I was getting ready to go out. I was sweating already through my new shirt, one of many, _many_ first dates in my life but they still had the ability to render me into a jabbering wreck.

Ste had seemed sullen all week, moodily pouting his lips, which I had thought was reserved for teenagers until I met him, but he seemed a little perkier that evening and engrossed in his phone.

"Yeah, yeah fine."

He had his bloody feet on the sofa again. Sweat prickled through me once and I told myself what the kids say: chillax.

"Well, I'll see you later. I don't know when I'll be back…but if I do come back with her, make yourself scarce! And clean the place up!" I said calling from the doorway as I left. He didn't seem to notice my leaving, or wish me any luck. He probably didn't hear the memo about cleaning up – maybe I'd text it to him later half way through the meal if it was going well.

As I was coming out the flat to the stairs and umm-ing and ahh-ing over whether people still wore ties on dates, I almost collided head on with Brendan Brady coming out of his own flat.

"Evening," he said in a voice that was almost mocking.

I nodded at him and rushed past.

"Hot date is it?" he called out. The direction of his next comment wasn't directed at me, but at my flat. "I should say so," and in my pre-date anxiety it didn't dawn on me what he'd meant by that until approximately twelve hours later.

\x\

I might've drowned my sorrows at another failed date, but that wasn't just a banging headache screeching through my head. It was laughter. Coming from my flat. Groaning, I dragged my sorry self out of bed and peered, bleary eyed, around the flat from the stairs.

The living room was still a pit. That was the first thing I noticed. Then just a little further in the kitchen (and I checked it wasn't just double vision) there were two men in my kitchen. Two men, half dressed in _my_ kitchen with what looked like the entirety of _my_ fridge emptied onto the kitchen counter.

I watched for a moment as Ste darted about like a child, his presence batted away by Brendan until he slapped him across the arse and the drilling of Ste's laughter chiselled through my brain again. The smell of my Extra Virgin Olive Oil frying all and sundry made me feel queasy for many reasons and shaking with a hangover I continued down the stairs, ready to start a (quiet) war. Brendan let the apple and sage farmers' market sausages burn as he pulled Ste into a kiss, getting greasy fingers over Ste's t-shirt.

Ste wriggled away eventually, claiming Brendan was ruining their breakfast and I suspected Brendan was about to reply with something lewd when I cleared my throat and the pair of them sprung apart.

"Sorry Tony, did we wake you?"

My eyes fell on a packet of pancetta, butchered open. Organic vine tomatoes, rolling over the kitchen worktops, wild mushroom strewn like confetti, crumbs of my home baked bread sprinkled over the counter.

"Hangover," I mumbled weakly.

"Here," Ste said, handing me a glass of my pulp-free, freshly squeezed orange and mango juice. The carton lay empty in the bin.

"No," I said pushing the drink back in his hand, "I'll make myself a coffee,"

"You're outta milk," Brendan said, finally speaking up after a silence that screamed embarrassment of being caught cooking with his boyfriend in their pants, "How about an espresso and we'll save you some of this," he added, lifting up the frying pan which swam in fat.

I'm sure I was close to a vein bursting on my face.

"I'm teaching him what you taught me, Tony," Ste said, budging Brendan out the way to take over.

I couldn't listen to a word more, so making a quick exit, I left for a shower.

\x\

I heard a belch before I'd even re-entered the room.

"Manners like a pig," I heard Brendan say.

"It were a compliment," Ste replied.

"Glad to hear it,"

"You've got…" Ste began, reaching across the table to wipe Brendan's moustache, "Sauce,"

I missed the next part of the conversation as I stumbled and tripped over a pair of black pointed shoes in the hall way.

"That's it!" I shouted, loud enough to hurt my own head. "Enough!"

Ste and Brendan looked at me in a mixture of shock and bewilderment.

"You turn my home into a dumping ground, you invite people round and then, THEN, you eat me out of house and home!"

"Alright Tony, it was only breakfast!" Ste said.

My eyes bulged and I was about to point the finger again when Brendan stood and cocked his head to one side, which even in my raging state, scared me a little.

Ste was clearly nervous too as he tried stopping him with a quiet, "Brendan…"

Brendan smiled, tight lipped. "You can't make an omelette without breaking any eggs, ain't that right Tony? Hmm?" he called over his shoulder, "And it was a good omelette wasn't it, Stephen?"

"Yeah good, really good."

"Now Tony, take a fifty from my wallet. From me to you, for your hospitality to Stephen. Buy yourself a Mochafrappacino-skinny-extra-easy-no-foam whatever it is you drink. We'll give the place a nice little spring clean and just for you Tony, I'll take the lad off your hands no bother. No bother,"

I could barely tell whether he was joking or not the way he bordered on unhinged.

"Do we have a deal?"

I nodded sheepishly and he bared all his teeth in a grin and turned on the spot.

"Choppity Chop Stephen, there's a kitchen to clean," and with a sigh, Brendan took the paper I had delivered and parked himself on my sofa, "See ya around Tony."


End file.
